


Return to Dust in 8 takes

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Dwarven Carta (Dragon Age), F/M, because Zevran doesn't get to stab anything so he's got to do something, implied threat of violence, lyrium smuggling, smutty fantasy, various povs, writerly wank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Warden Kit Brosca returns to Dust Town. Repeated from a variety of perspectives.





	Return to Dust in 8 takes

**Author's Note:**

> I’m working through _Steering the Craft: a 21st-Century Guide to Sailing the Sea of Story_ by Ursula K. Le Guin, and it is kicking my writerly butt in the best possible way. You know how they say the best way to become a good writer is to read a lot and write a lot? Well, Le Guin’s book is sharpening my reading and writing into a glass-edged blade. Slip! Right through kevlar to the heart of the writing. 
> 
> This piece is the result of the writing exercises in chapters 7 and 8 about point of view and voice. It’s the same scene written 8 different ways.
> 
> I wonder which will be your favorite?

** _Kit Brosca—3rd person limited_ **

Kit figured Zevran was disreputable enough, for an elf. The other two? Well, she had crossed the biggest Carta boss in history. It was better to go in with reliable backup than try to be friendly. Besides, it was fun to call it a double date and watch Alistair and Morrigan sputter.

Not three steps beyond the archway between the neon-lit Commons and shadowy Dust Town before Vorn called her name. Ancestors. Vorn had been hot shit back—what? Only a month ago?—when Kit had gotten Beraht dispossessed. Now there was a moment of tension, but Vorn glanced at Kit’s crew—no doubt ready for a fight, after all they’d been through in Kinloch Tower and cleaning up the killing floor of Ostagar—and came over laughing, friendly-like. Sure his rank was down, he said, but the money was better in lyrium smuggling. He introduced her to Rogek, who had a one-time offer for a lyrium sale. She let Zev bargain Rogek down and then snapped it up. No problem, snip-snap and before they knew it they were loaded up with enough shielded lyrium to get banished to the Deep Roads. But. No one checked Wardens, and everyone knew Wardens ended up in the Deep Roads anyway. During their friendly conversation after, Rogek gave Kit the lay of the land: Jarvia was in charge of the Carta now, and she was far cannier than Beraht had ever been. Kit and her crew could walk Dust Town freely, but they wouldn’t so much as sneeze unobserved here.

** _Alistair—Observer/Narrator_ **

Kit seemed to charge like a battery as the neon faded from red and orange to blues and greens. Buildings were getting shabbier as Alistair followed. Suddenly, a dwarf stepped out of an alley and called Kit’s name, but something in the tone made it a threat. Alistair reached for his sword and riot shield, ready to bury whatever trouble this tough guy could dish up. That was mixing metaphors, wasn’t it? Whatever. Alistair was ready.

Except he wasn’t ready for this. Ended up the dwarf had a business proposition, not a grudge. How did you tell the difference? Zevran was relaxed the whole time, but then Alistair had seen the man saunter through a battlefield like he hadn’t a care. The elf joined the muttered negotiations before a large package was exchanged for money. Alistair did not want to know.

When Alistair asked Morrigan if she’d seen that coming, she just rolled her eyes, so yeah. Alistair was the idiot here. Remind him not to ask Morrigan things like that anymore. Kit collected a bit of gossip and seemed pleased.

This is why Alistair should never be put in charge. He would’ve flubbed the whole thing.

** _ Detached Author _ **

[A woman dressed in a Duster-style leather jacket over biker’s armor stalks into Dust Town, glancing around once. She’s followed closely by an elf, two humans behind him. A man approaches them, shouting the woman’s name—Kit Brosca. Kit tenses, smiling close-lipped. The humans all tense, hands drifting toward their weapons—a staff in the case of the human woman draped in leather, feathers, and silk. The well-armored male human actually touches his shield and the handle of the sword on his back. The elf regards the approaching man lazily, hands at his sides where an array of knives are strapped over his bullet-resistant motorcycle gear.]

[The man glances over the group members and smiles, friendlier than Kit’s smile. He greets her with open arms. The elf narrows his eyes for a second, but the humans relax, shift away, and start eyeing the shadows. Kit calls him Paragon of Thugs. They discuss their change in fortunes. Paragon introduces Rogek and they trade in lyrium, coin, and information. Everyone walks away from the area, the elf smiling far more pleasantly than any of the three dwarves, but the humans not smiling at all.]

** _Vorn—Limited 3rd person Voice #2_ **

Vorn never fucking expected a Brosca to show her face in Dust Town again, but especially not this one. He stepped out of the alley, anger getting the better of him, and shouted Kit Brosca’s name. The two humans behind her reached for their weapons, and Kit smiled the dangerous smile she was more famous for before she became a traitor. What made him reconsider his instinct to put his fist through Brosca’s face was the pity in the elf’s expression. Like things were about to go very badly for him.

Well, hold on. Sure, she’d destroyed his progress up the ranks of the Carta, but this lateral move—a demotion, technically—into the smuggling branch paid better than anything he’d done for Beraht. Maybe it was more dangerous, but danger gave the work more zing.

Besides, her friends looked really well-armed.

So Vorn played host, welcoming her home like family. In a flash of inspiration, he directed her down the alley to meet with Rogek, who wheedled her into taking a lyrium shipment and even paying upfront. Her elf talked Rogek down below normal market value, but that’s bargaining and this isn’t a normal market. They didn’t need to be found with such a big stash. Kit shared some news that had only been rumors before—the Blight and Ferelden’s civil war—so Vorn gave her a metaphoric sketch of Dust Town in return. Nothing he could get in trouble for, but a start.

Later, Vorn was glad he hadn’t picked that fight. Between the fact that she and her new crew were allowed in Orzammar at all and her talk of the Blight, it was clear she was a Grey Warden now. Everybody knows you don’t fuck with Grey Wardens.

Not without some heavy firepower, anyway.

** _ Involved Author _ **

Kit Brosca, newest Grey Warden in Thedas and de facto leader of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, had come home.

Home hadn’t been at the gates of the Orzammar Mining Company. It hadn’t been the Hall of the Paragons, with its imposing stone figures and rich red neon light glowing like lava. It hadn’t even been the Commons, with its narrow streets between tall buildings lined with a rainbow of neon: Reds closer to the Hall and blues closer to Dust Town.

No, home was when Kit stepped into Dust Town itself and found she could breathe again, that things made sense, that she felt more like herself than she had in weeks.

If only she knew what was waiting for her.

For now, though, all was familiar. Vorn stepped out of an alley, and the violence on his mind was easily quelled with the threat of a violent response. His ancestors smiled on him, or perhaps hers on her, and he parried the deadly misstep into a business opportunity. He chose to take the old joke about being a Paragon of thugs as a kind of twisted compliment and incidentally added another brick to his reputation of knowing all the right people. A Grey Warden willing to smuggle lyrium? Priceless in the Carta, especially in times like these. Vorn with his surprising connections might be a good one to keep on hand.

Around this small interaction, the machinations of would-be kings blundered, yanking strings and changing fortunes. The gates of Orzammar opened or closed on the order of the King of Orzammar, but King Endrin was dead. Rather than setting its own rules to govern trade, the Council of the Orzammar Mining Company locked its formidable doors. Warden Kit was only allowed to enter due to the King’s seal on a document she carried. The deshyrs had intended to put pressure on each other to choose the next king quickly, but they were only stepping on the neck of dwarven trade.

This included the Carta’s trade. In theory, the Carta gleaned lyrium from spent veins the Orzammar equipment couldn’t extract at a good value. In practice, these half-hearted gleanings were cover for theft from official Orzammar shipments. The cleverest dusters in the Carta—Jarvia and her lieutenants—kept changing the game to keep ahead of the nobles and warriors who tried to stem the loss. Any given day, they might have been misdirecting entire shipments, skimming a bit from many shipments, altering bookkeeping records, or forging orders and payment receipts from fictitious Chantries on the Surface. One scheme involved setting up unofficial Proving races to launder the money as official bets. That one was so successful they kept the races long after the cash was spent, always reinvested in the future of the Carta.

But what the Carta needed right now was a way to move product. The nearest open exit was on the other side of miles of darkspawn-infested Deep Roads, and no one wanted to risk that. Even tough-as-nails Jarvia shivered if she thought about it too long. So she didn’t. She praised Rogek for getting rid of their current stock and settled in to find solutions to this new cash-flow problem: Maybe shaking down the local merchants?

Kit Brosca didn’t even register as an issue. Jarvia had met her once and figured that little thuglet wouldn’t have the guts to disrupt Carta operations, certainly not effectively. Let her take care of the darkspawn, like a good little Warden. Jarvia had money to make.

** _Zevran—Observer/Narrator 1st Person _ **

Following the Warden even into dingy places such as these has its benefits. For one, the view is excellent no matter where we go. For another, my Warden has an eye for opportunity.

For example, the moment we stepped into Dust Town, the Warden’s old stomping grounds as it were, an old friend greeted her. I wouldn’t say there was much kindness to his manner. In fact, a clink of metal behind me said loudly that the humans in the party were ready to meet any threat. Though I was always ready to draw steel in those days, all I could feel in the moment was pity for how quickly our companions would turn this dwarf into a pile of sticky matter or possibly ash the moment he made any clearer threat.

We all had good reason to be a bit trigger-happy, as they say.

But no. This friend came bearing a business opportunity, one I helped negotiate to a more advantageous balance. It helped that I was the metaphorical carrot to my companions’ literal sticks, I’m sure. In addition, Kit offered a tidbit of news from outside the Company and received in return the name of the new Carta boss as well as an alarming assessment of her influence. All in a day’s work for her, though admittedly the day had just begun.

** _ Quick Shifts in Limited 3rd Person _ **

Kit didn’t feel at home when she crossed the threshold of Orzammar, though the Hall of Paragons ached in her soul, if she had one. Home didn’t appear when the nobles brawled in the Commons, shanking one of their own and scurrying off like glittering rats. She didn’t feel at home following the rainbow of neon from rich red to gentle, secure blue and green. She was starting to suspect she wouldn’t feel at home until she saw Rica, Leske, or even her mother. Then she led her crew into Dust Town. A familiar voice called her name in a tone that threatened, and there it was. Kit Brosca was home.

###

Kit Brosca was dead, or at least every fiber of Vorn’s instinct urged him to make that true. Unfortunately, Rogek and his smugglers hadn’t followed Vorn out into the dubious blue light the way Vorn’s crew under Beraht would have.

Kit’s crew was like nothing Vorn had seen under the Surface. He’d learned to make deals with this type since his change in fortunes. Thanks to this duster. The woman had a staff like a mage, and the man had a riot shield and some sort of long weapon on his back. He had the stance of a templar, too.

Vorn almost missed the elf, standing close enough to Kit to be her personal assistant but well-armed enough for a guard. He wasn’t reaching for his weapons like the others, and Vorn had the impression that in a fight the elf would stand aside and watch for entertainment value. Yeah Vorn was tough, but going against Kit’s crew alone would be like when they put a nug on the Proving track with a pack of deepstalkers: barely enough blood to whet the audience’s appetite. Vorn needed to avoid this fight. Wait, wasn’t Rogek just dusting about a need to move product?

###

Vorn had always been ambitious, but Rogek never understood how Vorn had ever turned that ambition into success. He was big, sure. Did fine with whatever weapon came to hand, especially if it had nails sticking out of it. Rogek appreciated Vorn’s results. But he didn’t seem anything special. Until he introduced Rogek to Warden Kit Brosca.

Rogek was having trouble getting product out the door, like every merchant in Orzammar the last week or three. His procurers weren’t having any problems—darkspawn activity was down—but the Carta just didn’t have the secure storage to keep so much product away from The Man’s curious and determined gaze.

Enter Vorn’s friend Kit. Apparently, they knew each other from before she was recruited into the Wardens. She had a document with the seal of a King and Warden respectability to keep her from getting stopped and searched. This could be the beginning of something profitable.

###

Zevran didn’t know lyrium prices, but Rogek had the look of a man with the better end of a deal. Their dear Warden perhaps knew that look as well—or lyrium prices—because she signaled Zevran to help keep the negotiation friendly. Backed as he was by a team well-accustomed to eliminating threats with skill, strategy, and sometimes aplomb, it was not difficult to talk them down to a price that eased the Warden’s vibrating bowstring posture. The final deal even shifted some of that satisfaction from Rogek’s shoulders to hers. As Zevran stepped back into his observer mode, he indulged in a fantasy of seating Kit on one of those fine dwarven throne-like chairs, spreading her knees, and worshipping her until her bow was unstrung entirely and her satisfaction all he could read.

Perhaps later. The day was young and contained many possibilities.

** _ Shifts in 3rd Limited with a touch of Involved Author for transitions _ **

Kit didn’t feel at home when she crossed the threshold of Orzammar, though the Hall of Paragons ached in her chest. She certainly didn’t feel at home when she caught the upper crust of the Diamond Quarter brawling in the streets, one supposedly civilized dwarf shanking someone on the opposing team. She didn’t even feel at home following the rainbow of neon from rich red to gentle, secure green and blue. She was starting to suspect she wouldn’t feel at home until she saw Rica, Leske, and maybe even her mother. Then she led her crew into Dust Town. A familiar voice called her name with an embedded threat, and there it was. Kit Brosca was home.

She didn’t even know Vorn that well. He’d been one of Beraht’s lieutenants before Kit had exposed a scheme that, looking back, held far more risk than reward. No wonder Vorn had violence in mind as he stepped out of the blue-tinged shadows. It’s just that Kit’s crew was more of a risk than Vorn could afford. They were nothing like Vorn had seen in Dust Town. The humans had the air of mages and templars he’d learned to make deals with over the last month since his change in fortunes. The woman had a staff like a mage, and the man had a riot shield and some sort of long weapon. He had the stance of a templar and the stink of darkspawn, which also wafted from Kit. Grey Warden? Vorn’s brain suggested. There were rumors that some of their tech was stolen directly from darkspawn.

Vorn almost missed the elf, standing close enough to Kit to be a personal assistant but well-armed enough for a guard. He wasn’t reaching for his weapons like the humans, and Vorn had the impression that in a fight the elf would stand aside and watch for entertainment value. Yeah, Vorn was tough, but no. Going against Kit’s crew would be like when they put a nug on the Proving track with a pack of deepstalkers: barely enough blood to whet the audience’s appetite.

On the other hand, Vorn’s boss had a problem with getting through the Orzammar gates. The very same gates Kit—Warden Kit?—had to have walked through to get this far.

The problem was one of opportunity. Rogek’s procurers happened to have an opportunity because darkspawn activity slowed significantly in the section of the Deep Roads where the Orzammar Mining Company was mining. This kind of stock increase with no outgoing trade meant Orzammar was having trouble finding enough secure places to keep their lyrium. They were more than happy to let Rogek’s crew take it off their hands.

The Carta, though, was having the same problem. Guards in the area didn’t appreciate the hard work Rogek’s crew did gleaning, and their usual stashes were all full. Enter Vorn’s friend Kit. Apparently, they knew each other from before she was recruited into the Wardens. Rogek was impressed. She had a document with the seal of a King and enough Warden respectability to keep her from getting stopped and searched. Vorn clearly knew all the right people, even if he had no head for politics. This must have been the source of Vorn’s success before Beraht was taken out in a complex and unexpected coup from Jarvia.

Rogek smiled the smile of a man who was getting the better end of a deal until Kit signaled her elf forward. Zevran explained that he wanted to keep the negotiation friendly to both parties. By default, Zevran smiled the smile of a man who finds you absolutely fascinating in whatever way you want to be fascinating. It didn’t hurt, of course, that Zevran was backed by a team that could be efficient and brutal when necessary. Talking Rogek down to a price that loosened the Warden’s bowstring posture was easy. Zevran was pleased to watch some of Rogek’s satisfaction shift to Kit’s shoulders. As he stepped back into his observer mode, he indulged in a fantasy of seating her on one of those fine dwarven throne-like chairs, spreading her knees, and worshipping her until the bow’s tension was completely unstrung and her satisfaction was all he could read. Perhaps later. After all, the day was young and contained many possibilities.

**Author's Note:**

> I do plan to eventually someday write Kit all the way through Orzammar, but it will probably be in short-story snapshots. Kit Brosca’s Orzammar story will not be canon-compliant, even disregarding the Cyberpunk AU. 
> 
> Which is your favorite version? Tell me in the comments! 
> 
> Thanks to Terry, Apostate, Mocha, and Rosehip for encouraging me to post this writerly wank, no questions asked!


End file.
